


home.

by aishiteita



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: I'm Sorry, M/M, Mild Horror, Minor Character Death, Not Beta Read, Not Really Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 15:22:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10924593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aishiteita/pseuds/aishiteita
Summary: The universe agrees with him when Jihoon says that he's finally found a place he can call home.





	home.

**Author's Note:**

> its 6am im sleepy  
> this is not edited much if at all  
> also sorry brynny

CDs piled high in one corner while his laundry waits in another is how Jihoon likes his room. The bed is impeccably neat, made every morning before he leaves for work and every night before he tucks himself in. When his bag is sagging over his desk, a pen or his card falling perfectly onto his spinning chair—he allows himself to sleep.

A mess isn't a mess when it's so organized. Jihoon embraces familiar dust, feels out of place when he vacuums the place on Sundays.

So he doesn't appreciate the squeaky clean floors on a Thursday evening. "Not again, Junhui."

The man in question lets his wide grin drop just a tiny bit. "It was getting _way_ too dusty, Hoonie." He promptly gets down onto the floor, lies on his side before rolling over to lay by Jihoon's feet. "See? We can have dinner and watch a movie on the _floor_ later. Like what hippies did back then."

"You weren't born then," Jihoon retorts, but the exasperation's gone from his face, now blank and tired from an entire day of signing contracts. Soft hair tickles his toes, and Jihoon spares himself a couple of seconds sweeping his gaze over bright eyes, rise and fall of a chest that keeps too many words from bubbling up past the throat. He wordlessly extends a hand to Junhui. "I got us pizza."

Junhui grabs Jihoon's hand, but barely pulls at it to get back up on his feet. He kisses Jihoon; it's chaste, a brief touch of lips against lips.

"Thank you," he whispers. Jihoon suppresses the grin creeping on his face.

 

 

Three in the morning or sometime around then is when Jihoon usually wakes with greasy hair and sticky limbs tangled between Junhui's colder ones. Jihoon does the math while pressing his lips against Junhui's shoulder; he's had two hours of solid sleep. He doesn't need to be in the office before ten and the subway usually breaks down between the hours of seven and nine. Sleeping in a little is fine, he thinks, trailing kisses all the way up to Junhui's jawline and eventually the corner of his mouth, stirring him awake.

Silence. Breathing. Jihoon hearing the slow beating of his own heart echoed back from Junhui's lips.

"Shower?" he offers. Junhui gives him a sleepy smile.

Despite the relatively strong fragrance of his shower gel, Junhui's skin doesn't smell like anything when Jihoon nuzzles his face into the crook of Junhui's neck. He tells Junhui as such.

"I didn't know that," Junhui laughs, but it quickly dissolves into a yawn. "At least I don't stink, right?"

The rustle of crisp, clean shirts lull Jihoon back to sleep. "Not at all," he mumbles before closing his eyes. One of his arms is stuck underneath Junhui's torso. He's sure it'll feel funny come morning, but it's worth being able to hold Junhui now.

 

 

"So I'm getting the promotion?"

Jihoon's boss, Seulgi, stirs the coffee in her hands, flinching slightly when a stray drop scalds her thumb. "Yes, you are," she says, setting the mug back onto her desk to cool. "But I'll have to transfer you to the Daegu branch."

 _Daegu._ Jihoon purses his lips and tries to not let his disappointment show. It's barely two hours by train, he knows, but it's two hours too far still, and he's finally made the closest thing he can call a home. "Can I decline the promotion and stay here?"

"Jihoon," Seulgi starts, "you're a great employee. It's just that we're downsizing, and they really need someone to replace Mrs. Han. Immediately." Jihoon twiddles his thumbs, watches Seulgi pick up her mug of coffee, burn her tongue, and set it back down. "You're getting almost twice the amount you make here, so what's holding you back?"

Jihoon sighs. "You've arranged for the transfer already, haven't you?"

Seulgi averts her gaze, "I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have." She exhales sharply before straightening her back. "I've arranged everything with corporate. Your position is very secure and I made sure they found you a flat close to the company."

 _You just don't want me to say no_. "I'll think about it," Jihoon says, knuckles white on his knees.

 

 

Some four, five years ago, Jihoon sat in a fancy café across Joshua, the apartment's previous tenant. Between their cups of latte were papers and a pen, as well as Jihoon's confident hands set on the wooden table while Joshua kept his hidden on his lap.

"It's all yours now," Joshua cheered. It sounded hollow to Jihoon, but the papers were gone and so was the weight off his shoulders. To have a place he could call home—the apartment's keys tingled in his tight grip. Joshua seemed to feel otherwise, smile so stiff it was nearly a grimace. Jihoon remembers how he looked like he wanted to scream. "Enjoy."

 

 

"I think I'll have to move soon."

"Do you really?"

Junhui doesn't look particularly bothered, but Jihoon knows better. It'll be worse once they get ready for bed. "My boss arranged the transfer already. I can't say no," he mutters pathetically.

Getting up from the couch, Junhui goes to Jihoon's room and proceeds to stack his CDs alphabetically, sort the laundry by color. He showers straight after dinner, emerging from the steam with raw skin and overly dry hair.

"I tried to get your scent on me," Junhui confesses when Jihoon holds his hands. "I think I failed."

It's terribly muggy under the sheets, but Jihoon doesn't mind, doesn't care as he keeps Junhui pressed against him, hands everywhere and legs tangled up. Sweat gets onto his lashes and into his eyes, but Junhui kisses them anyway, and Jihoon wants to cry. He can't ever get Junhui to smell like his shower, can't ever get the mark on Junhui's neck to stay for more than one night, can't take Junhui with him to Daegu because this mess of an apartment isn't his, it's Junhui's, and in return it owns Junhui himself.

"I wish I can go," Junhui sighs against Jihoon's hair.

"I'm sorry."

A kiss; harsh and biting and almost imploring without being outright. "I'll miss you."

Jihoon's throat seizes up, tongue frozen until he gets to work the next day. His pile of laundry is gone, and so are his CDs, uniform rows on his shelf foreign while the bag sitting so neatly on his chair offers more room for dust to settle on his desk.

 

 

Sometime around last year, Jihoon treated Joshua to Starbucks for brunch. There were no papers between their tall cups of frappe this time. Joshua had his elbows on the table while Jihoon twiddled his thumbs underneath.

"I love him a lot," Jihoon said. His eyebags were the sincerer aspect of the confession, and he hoped Joshua understood.

Joshua grinned, nodding but asked in the end anyway, "Junhui?"

Jihoon watched Joshua's interlaced fingers tighten their grip on his knuckles, the red on pink on white. Blunt nails dug into skin. "You did too, didn't you?" Joshua eventually loosened his hold; Jihoon caught the crescent marks on his knuckles when Joshua pulled his hands back into his pockets.

An ambulance zoomed past the café, tires screeching. Its obnoxious blaring faded away after a few seconds, giving Joshua no excuse to remain quiet. He sighed before hanging his head, shoulders worn as he slumped further against his chair.

"I can't look at the mirror anymore, knowing he's not actually there," Joshua whispered. He was still grimacing, eyes warily darting left and right as if he was being watched. "But it feels like he's still with me."

 

 

Jihoon doesn't move in the end. His promotion is dashed, along with the career he's so carefully built for himself; but as long as his laundry pile and CD stack are intact, it's alright. Junhui switches the television on, complaining about their empty kitchen cabinets to Joshua who's dropped by for a visit.

"Sorry we've no coffee to offer you," Jihoon chuckles.

"That's fine," Joshua huffs defeatedly, dirt creasing into the lines of his palms when he releases the door handle. "I'm glad you two are happy, even if this place is getting harder to sell."

"Keep it then," Jihoon suggests, holding Junhui's hand in his. "Don't sell this place anymore."

 

 

Amidst the flames, the side of his face stinging with a million miniscule cuts and mouth gurgling blood, Jihoon had a thought. A wish. The unhinged car door pressed harder against his broken ribs, and it was getting harder to breathe, but Jihoon replayed Junhui's voice a thousand times over in his head, the tiny _come home safe_ he waved back to every morning before closing the door.

Within the mess of fire and oil and metal was something almost like fate, comforting Jihoon like the dusty floors of his apartment. He was beaming the whole while his train tickets turned to ashes just inches away from his face.

 _I'm coming home_.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i like cheap horror also the thought of ghost junhoon;;;  
> also i confuse junhui and jihoon a lot name wise btwn the hoursof 4-6am god


End file.
